


The Crossover Collection

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them AU, Interview With The Vampire AU, M/M, Mad Men AU, Minor Spoilers, Rogue One AU, Spoilers, Vampires, Westworld AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: A place to put errant crossover/fusion ficlets.1. Westworld AU - Professor Xavier, the creator of the immersive Wild West-themed world of Genosha,  meets a familiar face as he reflects on what he has built.2. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them AU - Magizoologist Charles Xavier arrives in New York to a very frosty reception.3. Mad Men AU - Charles has a late-night meeting with his creative director, Erik, and plans are made.4. Rogue One AU - Erik notices Charles's interest in the girl wandering through the market square on Jedha.5.  Interview with the Vampire AU - Erik starts to tell a mortal boy the story of how he came to be a vampire.





	1. Westworld AU

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for Westworld (I advise you watch at least one episode before reading this, just to grasp what's going on). 
> 
> There are two versions of Charles in this - the Professor (Patrick Stewart version) who is the creator of Genosha, and Charles (XMFC version) who is a 'Host' (i.e. a robot).

Professor Xavier sat in his wheelchair, looking out at the world he had created around him. In the distance he could see the town of Westchester, the point of arrival for every Guest who entered Genosha, eager to taste the synthesised delights of the Old World in a time that had moved far beyond it. 

It had been many years since he himself had entered the town; it held nothing of interest for him now. His enjoyment lay solely in creation – and, on the occasions that he managed to pull himself away from the cold sterility of his laboratory, in wandering his lands alone, far away from human company.

A movement in the corner of his eye caused his gaze to drift away from the roof of the town saloon to the distance beyond, where a plume of smoke signalled the arrival of the steam train bringing a new batch of Guests to Westchester. The train came every day, like clockwork. Just like the town’s inhabitants: clockwork. Or, at least, something very like.

The Professor watched it for a moment and then turned his gaze away. He looked down at the sand – manufactured, every grain of it, by a scientist in a laboratory, just like everything else in this world – and watched as a lizard, small and sand-coloured, darted its tongue out at him as it crawled over the sun-baked rock. He smiled. He wondered if the lizard was one of his own, formed with his own two hands.

Probably not, he decided. He had only made a few in his time. He had always preferred creating human forms, human brains. Animals only kept his interest for so long.

 _ **People** only keep your interest for so long._ He could practically hear the words said aloud, the tone rich and mocking even in its fondness. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. Magnus had known him well.

It was strange, sometimes, to remember that it had been thirty years since they had last seen each other. Since Magnus had _died_ , the Professor corrected himself. It was strange how unnatural those words felt, even now – Magnus had always been such a powerful character, so larger-than-life, so _alive_ … so much so that the Professor had a hard time remembering that he had passed, even decades later.

 _But of course, you are still here,_ the Professor thought, casting his eyes around at the desert sands. _Every inch of you is in this place, as much as I am. Even if no one else knows it._

It had broken his heart to have had Magnus’s name removed from its place beside his own as one of the founding fathers of this world of theirs – the world that the two of them had built out of simple personal pleasure, out of love and curiosity and from the innocent desire to _create_ – but it had been necessary. Magnus had never been one to accept realities; for all that he had called the Professor naïve, it was he who had been unable to see things for what they were, and it was this, in the end, that had destroyed their friendship.

The Professor sighed. He had no desire to dwell on such matters – especially not now when he had such _plans_ for the park – but he knew all too well that the past was inescapable. The very nature of Genosha was evidence of that.

‘It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?’

The Professor looked up and smiled. ‘Hello, Charles,’ he said, nodding his head in greeting. Just as he always did, he marvelled at the expert hand which had formed the features in front of him. Had he really looked like that, he wondered. So young, so handsome … so _innocent_. He had changed a great deal in the thirty years since.

‘Hello,’ Charles greeted him, smiling warmly, his hands in the pockets of his rough wool trousers. They were getting worn, the Professor noted idly. They needed replacing. ‘What are you doing all the way out here?’

‘I thought I would take a stroll,’ the Professor said, waiting as Charles came to stand by his side. ‘I like the quiet.’

‘So do I,’ Charles said, still smiling. He did that a lot; the Professor was sure that he had never smiled quite as much when he had been young. Then again, it had been Magnus who had built and programmed this Host; he had obviously believed that Charles had been that way, or else he would not have made him so.

‘What are you doing out here, Charles?’ the Professor asked.

‘Kurt was driving me crazy,’ Charles sighed. ‘I had to get away.’

‘Ah.’ The Professor nodded. Even now he did not fully know why he had gone to the trouble of recreating Kurt Marko in this world. Kurt was Fifth Generation; the Professor had built him in the aftermath of Magnus’s death, in a time of terrible upheaval and personal turmoil.

 _Realism_ , he had told himself.

 _Punishment_ , he had secretly admitted.

‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’ Charles was saying, looking out at the barren landscape. ‘Wild, and empty, but beautiful all the same.’

‘Most people wouldn’t think so,’ the Professor observed.

Charles smiled. ‘Then they’re not really looking.’

‘No,’ the Professor murmured. ‘They never do.’ 

They both paused to watch as the billows of smoke from the train abated slightly as it pulled into the station. The Professor wondered how many Guests were even now entering Westchester – entering _Genosha_ – for the very first time. He could not help but feel envious; the first time was always the best. At least, that’s what he had been told.

‘I’m going to get on that train one day,’ Charles said, almost to himself. ‘Some day soon, I’m going to leave this place.’

‘Oh?’ The Professor turned to look at him. ‘Where will you go?’

Charles laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, smiling. ‘Wherever the tracks take me.’

The Professor nodded. ‘I’m sure it will happen some day,’ he said. It wouldn’t. Charles would never leave this place. It wasn’t in his Story.

The Professor sighed. Art, it seemed, imitated life. After all, he couldn’t say that he had left this place in the last thirty years either.

The thought was a sobering one. The Professor suddenly felt tired. He glanced briefly at Charles. ‘You can go now,’ he said offhandedly. Their conversations usually lasted longer than this, but he simply wasn’t in the mood for it now. He just wanted to be alone.

Charles blinked at the dismissal. Then he turned and walked away without saying a word, unconsciously directing himself on to the next part of his Story. Tomorrow he would come to the same spot at the same time and say the same things to the next person he met there. It was all part of his Script, and that Script had not changed for the last thirty years. It never would.

The Professor turned his eyes back to the sands of Genosha. In the distance he could hear muffled gunshots and explosions that were carried on the wind, signalling the end of another orchestrated gunfight put on for the pleasure of the Guests. Idly, he wondered which of his Hosts were currently being carted off for repairs, to be patched up and cleaned and then returned to their stations for the next day’s revelries. 

Any regret that he had felt for the fate of his poor Hosts had disappeared a long time ago. They felt nothing; and so he, in turn, felt nothing either.

He wondered, briefly, what Magnus would have thought of what he had created here, of what Genosha had ultimately become. 

He wondered if he even cared.

The Professor sighed and took one last look at the land around him. ‘Look on my works, ye Mighty …’ he murmured, the words oddly bitter.

Then he turned his chair and pushed away without looking back.

Behind him, the lone and level sands stretched far away.


	2. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magizoologist Charles Xavier arrives in New York to a very frosty reception.

Things had not been going well for the English magizoologist Charles Xavier since his disembarkation at New York. He had lost his way; he’d mislaid his luggage; several – and Charles dreaded to think of just _how_ many – of the very magical beasts in his very magical suitcase had escaped in the decidedly _anti_ -magical New York; he’d accidentally roped in a dazed, confused, and possibly near-dead Muggle into the mix; and, worst of all, almost all of these catastrophes appeared to have been witnessed by someone who was quite possibly the most impatient and bad-tempered Auror that the American Ministry had to offer.

Needless to say, Charles had very quickly found himself under arrest.

And that was how he now found himself in the tiny rubble-strewn, niffler-ravaged apartment of Mr. Henry McCoy, the poor Muggle who had been unfortunate enough to switch his suitcase for Charles’s, and – even more unfortunately – appeared to have something of an allergy to the usually generally harmless murtlap venom. 

‘It really is most unusual for someone to react quite so poorly,’ Charles said apologetically, wincing as Mr. McCoy let out yet another pained groan. ‘Murtlap bites really are usually just mildly discomforting. It must be your Muggle blood – I had no idea Muggles reacted so adversely, it really is _quite_ fascinating …’

‘Mr. Xavier.’ The Auror, Erik Lehnsherr, was speaking through clenched teeth. ‘I will ask you again – did you or did you not just attempt to forcibly out the American wizarding community in front of half the population of New York City?’ 

‘I most certainly did not!’ Charles said, looking shocked.

‘Oh really?’ Lehnsherr snapped. ‘Don’t lie to me, Mr. Xavier. I just witnessed you apparating and disapparating in front of numerous No-Maj’s on _two_ separate occasions. _Two_. That I _witnessed_.’

Charles shuffled awkwardly. Inside the collar of his coat, his pet Bowtruckle chirruped and stroked the skin of his neck with a leafy, stick-like arm. The gesture was incredibly reassuring; unfortunately for Charles, it was also incredibly ticklish. 

‘Ha!’ Charles jumped, unable to swallow his laugh.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that funny to you, Mr. Xavier?’ he said coldly. ‘Breaking nearly a dozen wizarding laws in front of a licensed Auror?’

‘No,’ Charles said immediately, shaking his head quickly. There was a chirp of indignation as the Bowtruckle was nearly dislodged from his neck by the force of his movement. 

_Sorry_ , Charles sent sheepishly, pushing waves of apology towards it. _Better slip into one of my pockets, there’s a lad._

‘And don’t even get me started on that.’ Charles winced as Erik shot a withering look at the corner where the poor befuddled Muggle – or _No-Maj_ , as the Americans seemed to call them – was curled up on the floor, looking vaguely green. ‘Not only have you performed magic in front of a No-Maj, you’ve _poisoned_ him as well!’

‘I already _told_ you,’ Charles said, aiming for patient but ending up with exasperated. ‘He’s been bitten by a _murtlap_. An everyday, common, run-of-the-mill murtlap! Surely you must be familiar with those.’

‘Magical creatures of all kinds are banned in the United States,’ Erik snapped. ‘ _Possession_ of magical creatures is banned in the United States. The _setting loose_ of magical creatures is _especially_ banned—’

In the corner, Henry McCoy let out a pitiful moan. It was unclear whether the cause was the pain or the repeated reminder that ‘magical creatures’ actually existed.

Charles looked at Erik with large, sad eyes. Erik looked back. A moment passed.

Erik sighed. ‘How many magical creatures escaped from your care, Mr. Xavier?’ he said in a long-suffering voice.

‘Um,’ Charles said, thinking quickly. ‘Two?’

Erik frowned. ‘Was that a question?’ he demanded.

‘What?’ Charles looked back at him with wide eyes. ‘No, not at all. Two, it was two. Definitely not a question.’

‘Hmm.’ Erik eyed him suspiciously. ‘And those were the sole creatures that you had in your possession.’

‘Yes!’ Charles said brightly.

Mr. McCoy mumbled something under his breath that sounded vaguely like _murtlap_.

‘Plus the murtlap,’ Charles said quickly. ‘Two others and a murtlap. That’s all.’ He heard the faint _clink_ of coins from beneath the rickety bed at the other end of the room. ‘And a niffler,’ he added hurriedly as Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Two others, a murtlap and a niffler. That’s all.’

Erik watched him for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘Good,’ he said shortly. ‘Then we should be able to track them down by morning. Merlin knows what would have happened if there had been more than—’

There was a loud rattle.

Everyone froze. Even Mr. McCoy paused in his convulsions to look up in apprehension.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Mr. Xavier,’ he said in a low, dangerous voice. ‘Did that suitcase just move?’

‘No,’ Charles said immediately, smiling winningly even as he inched sideways in an effort to get closer to the treacherous case.

Erik’s eyes narrowed, if possible, even further. ‘Mr. Xavier,’ he said again, his teeth clenched. ‘Would you happen, by any chance, to have a living creature in your suitcase that you seem to have forgotten to tell me about?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Charles said at once.

The suitcase chose that moment to give a croak and topple over onto the floor.

Charles’s eyes met Erik’s.

‘Well,’ Charles said bravely. ‘Maybe just a _little_ one.’

‘ _How_ little?’ Erik asked flatly.

A sudden roar sounded from the depths of the suitcase, causing the walls around them to tremble from the force.

‘Well,’ Charles said, shifting guiltily. ‘Maybe not _that_ little.’

He looked at Erik. Erik looked at him.

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. ‘This is not how I expected my day to go,’ he muttered.

Mr. McCoy paused in the middle of retching to look up at them. ‘You’re telling me,’ he groaned. Then he promptly went back to vomiting into an empty plant pot.

Charles looked from one green, nauseated face to the other stern and disapproving one. He swallowed. ‘Right,’ he said brightly, surreptitiously hiding his wand behind his back and giving them his most winning smile. ‘So. How do you both feel about erumpent musk?’


	3. Mad Men AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles and Erik work in an advertising agency.
> 
> Based vaguely on the season 3 finale of Mad Men (’Shut the Door. Have a Seat’).

Erik was hard at work on the latest Burger Kitchen campaign when a soft knock on the door to his office startled him out of his daze. He glanced up, startled by the sound, at which point he noticed how dark it appeared to be outside. Frowning, he turned to look at the clock on the wall. He blinked. Somehow it had gone past ten o’clock and he hadn’t noticed.

He sighed. It appeared that he’d – once again – lost track of time and had stayed long enough for the office cleaners to turn up and start wondering what he was still doing there. 

‘Come in,’ he said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face as the door opened. ‘I’ll be done soon, and then—’ he paused when he saw that the person who walked through the door wasn’t the Marko-Xavier-Marko agency’s reliable old janitor with a mop and bucket, but was in fact Charles – the lone Xavier in the name that was on the advertising agency’s front doors – with a very expensive bottle of champagne. 

‘Hello, Erik,’ Charles said easily as he sauntered into the office. ‘I thought I might find you here.’

‘Charles,’ Erik said blankly, staring at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ He glanced once again at the clock on the wall. ‘Shouldn’t you be having dinner with the people from Mercedes?’ he asked, puzzled.

Charles cocked an eyebrow. ‘I just did,’ he said dryly. 

Erik’s eyebrows drew together. ‘And you – what – left early?’ He frowned when Charles just shrugged. ‘Why? Because they turned us down?’

Charles smirked. ‘No,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘I left early because they _didn’t_.’ He jiggled the champagne bottle in his hands to draw Erik’s attention back to it. ‘Why else do you think I brought the champers along?’

‘I just thought you’d stolen it from the restaurant,’ Erik said frankly, even as a slow, pleased smile spread over his face. ‘Was I wrong?’

‘You’re not,’ Charles said easily. ‘But it’s hardly stealing when it all gets charged to the firm anyway. Besides,’ he added, raising his chin and moving over to Erik’s desk even as he worked at removing the cork from the bottle. ‘We need to celebrate.’

‘To the best accounts man in the business,’ Erik said with a smile, pushing an empty coffee mug towards Charles. Charles made a face at the mug, but gamely poured a frothing cupful into it, waiting for Erik to snag it, before raising the whole bottle out for him to toast.

‘To the best _ideas man_ in the business,’ he said in return, smiling widely. ‘And to the sneakiest sonofabitch in the agency who convinced me to reschedule the Mercedes meeting without Kurt or Cain finding out.’ Charles raised the bottle higher. ‘Marko-Xavier-Marko thanks you from the bottom of its very, _very_ deep pockets.’ He took a deep swig from the bottle before pulling it away. ‘Well,’ he amended. ‘The Xavier portion of the name does, at any rate.’

Erik watched him closely, drinking from his mug at a more sedate pace. ‘You’re the one who got the account,’ he said coolly. ‘The credit is yours. We both know that you’re the only reason that they signed with us, Charles. And we also know that we wouldn’t be sat here drinking champagne if it had been Kurt or Cain who had sat down with Mercedes.’

‘No,’ Charles agreed solemnly. ‘We’d probably be sat here drinking cheap scotch instead.’

Erik ignored him. ‘You can’t let them bully you into taking a backseat on this one,’ he pressed, watching Charles intently. He spoke before Charles could protest. ‘I mean it, Charles. I’ve seen it happen before. This account is _important_. _You_ got it. _You_ should be the one to keep it.’

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked down at his shoes. ‘They’ll be angry,’ he said after a pause, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

‘Fuck them,’ Erik said at once, his tone steely. ‘They haven’t got any fucking right to be. _You_ did all the work. You always do. Christ, 90% of the accounts we have are here because of you, Charles, and the 10% that aren’t are only here because Marko plays golf with the company CEOs at some overpriced country club for useless rich bastards with more money than sense.’

Charles didn’t say anything.

Erik forced himself to gentle his tone. ‘Everyone here knows your worth, Charles,’ he said quietly, his expression serious. ‘Here and everywhere else. The only people who don’t know it are your stepfather and brother. They just reap the rewards of your work.’

‘And yours,’ Charles said loyally, lifting his head at last. ‘Yours and everyone else’s who works here. You know I just—’ he waved his hands around vaguely, ‘— I just lure them in with promises of your brilliance. _You’re_ the ones who actually get them to stick around.’ He paused, somewhat melancholic. ‘I never _was_ any good at getting people to stick around.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you?’ he demanded. He raised a hand and gestured around him. ‘What about everyone here, Charles? What about _me_?’ He looked Charles straight in the eye. ‘The money is decent, of course, but let me tell you right now that no one here is staying for Kurt or Cain fucking Marko.’

Charles stared at him. ‘You – do you mean that?’ he asked quietly.

‘Of course,’ Erik said at once.

Charles looked away for a second. Slowly, the arm with the champagne bottle lowered so that it was placed upon the table. He then straightened up, his eyes surprisingly sharp and clear.

Erik’s eyes narrowed at the sudden change, and he watched Charles closely. For all that Charles had seemed ever so slightly tipsy when he had come in, he now seemed to be nothing more than stone cold sober.

‘I – I’ve had this thought,’ Charles said then, his voice low and slightly strained. He took at deep breath and licked his lips. ‘I’m sure you know how this advertising agency was started,’ he said, apropos of nothing. He waited for Erik to nod bemusedly before carrying on. ‘My father started it, and later, when the board voted him in, Kurt also became a partner.’ He looked down. ‘When my father died, I took his place at the head of the agency. And Kurt—’ Charles’s expression flickered. ‘Kurt married my mother and took charge of the company, and then brought in Cain and made him a name partner, regardless of the fact that what he knows about advertising or accounts or even basic human _charm_ wouldn’t fill a thimble.’

Erik held his breath. Charles didn’t often allow himself to rail against the injustices of the Markos, but when he did it was either because he was very drunk or else something was up. And Erik didn’t think it was the former.

‘They changed this firm,’ Charles said then, his expression pained. ‘It’s not what it was back in father’s day. It’s – it’s still a brilliant place, full of the best people in the world, of course, but …’

‘But it also has the Markos,’ Erik finished for him when Charles hesitated. ‘But it’s not _yours_.’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Charles turned to him with bright eyes. ‘That’s it, Erik. That’s it exactly. It’s not _mine_.’

‘So what are you thinking?’ Erik asked, leaning forward. ‘What do you have in mind?’

Charles didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was overly-casual. ‘Do you remember that one time – after Kurt and Cain lost the Solo Cola account and blamed it on you and your pitch? Do you remember?’

Erik gritted his teeth. ‘You know I do,’ he muttered, remembered anger flaring up despite himself. ‘The bastard fucked it up himself and then had the nerve to say it was _me_.’ His hands clenched into fists. ‘I almost walked out that day.’

Charles nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And I almost joined you.’

Erik’s head shot up. He looked at Charles. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. 

‘Exactly what I just said,’ Charles said calmly. ‘Now, do you remember what you said to Kurt that day?’

‘I told him the truth,’ Erik said, raising his chin, his fists still clenched. ‘I told him that if he hadn’t muscled his way in with his overpriced suit and his cigars and his rich man’s entitlement and fucked it all up for us, then we would have won the account. I told him that if it had just been me and you and a ten cent cup of coffee, then we would have won that fucking account.’ He shut his mouth and took a deep, rattling breath. ‘Bastard nearly went and fired me then and there.’

‘He _did_ fire you,’ Charles said dryly. ‘And he would have gone through with it if I hadn’t threatened to up and quit and take the Xavier name with me. He reconsidered, after that.’

Erik stared at him. ‘You never told me that,’ he said accusingly.

Charles shrugged. ‘Well I am telling you now,’ he said simply. ‘Kurt’s a bastard but he isn’t entirely stupid. He knows very well that the Xavier name still holds weight.’

‘ _Your_ name holds weight,’ Erik said, smiling thinly. ‘Kurt knows very well that without you this place is sunk.’ His expression grew serious. ‘I meant what I said that day, Charles. You and me and a stick figure drawn on a napkin would still have more talent between us than that bastard and his Neanderthal son.’

Charles nodded. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘And … it made me think.’ He licked his lips again. ‘It’s been preying on my mind ever since …’ He met Erik’s eyes. ‘Erik – let’s do it.’

Erik eyed him warily. ‘Let’s do what?’ he asked, cautious.

‘Let’s _leave_.’ Charles’s eyes gleamed, and he reached out to clasp Erik by the hand. ‘I want to leave, Erik. This place … this isn’t for me anymore. I want to go. And I want to build my own company. And I want—’ he paused, suddenly timid. ‘I want to build it with you.’ His hand curled gently over Erik’s as Charles finally met his eyes. ‘I want you by my side, Erik. I want us to do this together, you and me.’ He paused again. ‘Xavier and Lehnsherr.’

Erik felt his breath catch. ‘Xavier and Lehnsherr,’ he repeated, feeling something fierce burn in his chest.

‘I’ll be on accounts and you’ll be on creative, just as we are now,’ Charles continued, his fervour building in response to Erik’s. ‘Or – hell – we can _switch_ if we want to, it will be _ours_ , ours to do what we want. We’ll take whoever wants to come with us, of course,’ he added as Erik made to speak. ‘Employees _and_ accounts. We’ll offer them what we have. We’ll offer them _us_.’

Erik felt his heart beating fast inside his chest as he looked at Charles, studying him closely. ‘Do you mean this?’ he asked quietly, his focus wholly on Charles’s expression, watching for any flicker of doubt or worry. ‘Do you really mean this, Charles – for us to pack up and leave, just like that?’

Charles met his eyes unflinchingly. ‘Yes,’ he said, just as earnest. ‘Yes, Erik, I do.’ He squeezed Erik’s wrist gently. ‘I want there to be a Xavier and Lehnsherr. I want that so much.’

Erik swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, grimacing when his voice came out in a croak. ‘Are you sure that you are ready for this? That this isn’t just – just the champagne talking?’

Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘I assure you, I am quite sober,’ he said primly. Then he smiled, the expression almost wicked. ‘Besides,’ he added casually, ‘If I hadn’t been serious then I wouldn’t have floated the idea past the people with Mercedes this evening. I’d say it’s rather late to back out now.’

Erik stared at him. ‘What?’ he asked, disbelieving.

Charles sighed. ‘The Mercedes people liked us,’ he explained, once again reaching out and allowing his fingers to brush Erik’s wrist. ‘Which is to say, they liked you and they liked me. Kurt and Cain not so much. In fact, they pretty much came out and said that they would be very keen on engaging us if only those two weren’t involved.’ He paused. ‘So I might have run the idea by them that we were planning on splitting off and forming our own agency.’

‘Before you even ran the idea by me,’ Erik said, expressionless.

Charles winced. ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. ‘And I completely understand if you have no interest in this, Erik, believe me, it’s just a thought. It’s just … the people from Mercedes. They were _very_ receptive.’ He bit his lip and met Erik’s eyes. ‘Receptive enough for me to be reasonably confident that they will come calling if and when we have set ourselves up.’

Erik drew in a hissing breath. ‘This is very sudden,’ he said after a pause.

Charles shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But then again, not so very sudden at all.’

Erik snorted. ‘For you, maybe,’ he said. He then ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He glanced at Charles, who was looking at him with a mixture of anticipation and worry, clearly on tenterhooks for Erik’s response. 

Erik felt a slow smile spread over his face. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he said quietly, before shoving the Burger Kitchen storyboard drafts away and pushing himself to his feet. He turned to Charles and took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ he said, and he met Charles’s eyes and felt his smile widen impossibly further even as he said it. ‘Okay then. I’m in. Let’s do it.’


	4. Rogue One AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik notices Charles's interest in the girl wandering through the market square on Jedha.
> 
> (In which Charles and Erik are basically Chirrut and Baze from _Rogue One_ )

Erik sat by the wall, casually leaning against it as he lazily watched the traders of Jedha pass to and fro, keeping one eye – as always – on the man sat a few paces ahead of him. 

Charles, unfortunately, was not doing anything different from what he had been doing five minutes ago. Which, to Erik’s mild annoyance, was keeping a very close eye on the pretty young girl who had walked past them a few minutes before.

Erik waited for a moment, debating whether or not to speak, and then sighed, knowing that when it came to Charles it was better to ask and get the answers rather than simply brood in silence. ‘The girl,’ he grunted, nodding towards where the young woman with the startling red hair was cautiously wandering through the square. ‘What’s your interest in her?’

Charles was slow to rouse himself from his thoughts. ‘My interest?’ he repeated. He then smiled and turned to face Erik with an expression of mild amusement on his face. ‘What makes you think I have any interest in her at all?’

Erik gave him a look. ‘You spoke to her,’ he said flatly. ‘When she walked past – you made it a point to talk to her.’

‘I talk to many people,’ Charles said, shrugging easily.

‘Not like how you spoke to her. This was something more.’ Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘And don’t tell me that it was just about her necklace, Charles. I know you better than that. Besides,’ he added, rather stiffly. ‘You haven’t stopped watching her ever since you first laid eyes on her.’

Charles smiled. ‘Careful, my friend,’ he murmured, his eyes dancing. ‘You almost sound as if you were jealous.’

Erik snorted. ‘Jealous?’ He shook his head. ‘All I’m doing is the same thing I’ve always done, and that’s making sure that you don’t run into trouble.’ He glared at Charles. ‘Which, considering that you are constantly preaching about peace, amazingly _somehow_ still remains a full time job.’

‘I don’t think _I_ can be blamed for that,’ Charles protested mildly. ‘Not _entirely_ , at any rate.’

But Erik simply snorted again. ‘You tell yourself that, old friend,’ he said, shaking his head. His expression then sobered. ‘Now, stop avoiding the question and tell me why you cannot stop watching that girl.’

Charles’s smile faded. ‘Jyn Grey,’ he said slowly, almost reflectively. He was silent for a moment. ‘I sense the Force gathering around her,’ he said at last, speaking slowly. ‘An abundance of it. She is important, Erik.’

Erik’s eyebrows had risen. ‘Important?’ he said gruffly. ‘Important to whom?’

‘Important to us all,’ Charles said calmly. ‘She carries much on her shoulders.’ He closed his eyes. ‘She has dreams,’ he murmured. ‘Dreams of fire … Always fire …’

Erik watched his friend, his expression unreadable. At times like these, Charles always liked to claim that it was the Force that gave him his insight into the people around him. Erik had always maintained that he was simply being _Charles_. ‘The kyber crystal,’ he grunted after a moment. ‘The one she wears around her neck. They must be the cause of her dreams. They have such … effects.’

Charles was slow to nod. ‘Perhaps,’ he said cautiously. ‘And perhaps not.’

Erik rolled his eyes. ‘Stop trying to be mysterious, Charles,’ he drawled. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’ He nevertheless kept a wary eye on him, his gaze drawn to the wrinkle in Charles’s forehead.

‘I’m not trying to be _anything_ ,’ Charles protested. ‘It’s simply difficult to _see_.’ He paused. ‘I don’t actually know very much,’ he said reluctantly. ‘In fact, I hardly know anything at all. All I know is that she is important.’

Erik watched him for a minute. Then he sighed. ‘Please tell me that you aren’t going to get involved,’ he said exasperatedly.

‘You know I can’t do that.’

Erik threw Charles a dirty look. It contained a surprising amount of fondness. ‘What I know is that you are a stubborn fool who I ought to have washed my hands of years ago.’

Charles hid a smile. ‘As you say,’ he said mildly. ‘But I’m still going to help the girl.’

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘Good luck with that,’ he said tartly.

Charles smiled. ‘I don’t need luck,’ he murmured, his eyes meeting Erik’s. ‘I have _you_.’

There was a pause as they looked at each other, their eyes conveying more than words ever could.

Erik’s throat felt oddly tight. ‘Don’t forget your the Force,’ he said gruffly, averting his gaze. ‘You have me _and_ the Force. Even if only one of us actually exists.’

The corners of Charles’s eyes crinkled. ‘And the Force,’ he agreed, dipping his head in a nod and looking highly amused. ‘As always. The Force is with me, and I am—’

‘One with the Force, yes, yes, I know,’ Erik grumbled, though his eyes were soft. ‘You’ve said it often enough.’

Charles smiled. Then the warm expression left his face and his blue eyes clouded over. ‘Trouble approaches,’ he said quietly, grasping hold of his staff. ‘Jyn will need our help.’

‘Of course she will,’ Erik said, sighing. He watched Charles as he struggled to his feet, his nerve-damaged leg hampering the fluidity of the movement. ‘Just _how_ much trouble exactly?’

The look Charles shot him was almost impish, contrasting with the lines of tension that ran across his forehead. ‘Oh you know,’ he said casually. ‘The usual sort. Nothing to worry about.’

Erik looked unimpressed. ‘You’re a terrible liar,’ he said flatly. 

Charles laughed. ‘Come now, Erik, it’s just a small skirmish in a market square. How bad can it be?’

Erik glowered at him. ‘You know,’ he grumbled, ‘One of these days you’re going to end up getting us into something worse than a skirmish in a market square. And when that day comes not even your precious Force will be able to save us.’

When he lifted his head, he saw that Charles was looking at him with a sober expression. ‘I know,’ Charles said quietly, his gaze heavy. ‘I know.’

Erik met his eyes for a long moment. Then he smiled wryly and slowly got to his feet. ‘Until then, however …’ he said, arching an eyebrow.

Charles smiled. ‘Until then …’ he repeated, dipping his head in acknowledgement. He then closed his eyes, grasped his cane more firmly, and took a step forward. ‘The Force is with me,’ he said, as Erik joined him at his side, grimly raising his gun to his shoulder even as the first cries and shouts from the altercation filled the air. ‘And I am one with the Force.’

The battle began. 

Erik and Charles stepped forward, as one.


	5. Interview with the Vampire AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik starts to tell the story of how he came to be a vampire.
> 
> A one-shot based on the novel by Anne Rice.

The boy was younger than expected. Age didn’t mean very much to the vampire who stood by the window, but he could appreciate that much: the boy was young, with all the energy and vibrancy of youth – as well as its curiosity and hunger.

Erik hungered, too.

‘You said you would tell me the truth,’ the boy – Henry McCoy – said bravely in a voice that couldn’t quite hide the quaver in it. ‘That if I came with you, you would tell me—’

‘Have I not done as I said?’ The voice was quiet but there was an odd note buried beneath that implacable surface, a danger that lingered even as the softly spoken words left the man – the _vampire’s_ – lips.

McCoy paused at that, eyeing his questioner almost nervously. ‘You have told me what you are,’ he said cautiously, choosing his words with care. ‘That is – what you _think_ you are—’

‘You do not believe me?’

McCoy bit his lip. ‘I believe that _you_ believe it,’ he said at last. ‘But scientific reason states that—’

It happened between the blink of an eye. One moment Erik was at the window; the next he was at McCoy’s shoulder, grasping his neck and lifting him from the ground with a horrifying preternatural strength.

‘Science, Mr. McCoy?’ the vampire asked softly. ‘Do you think that science has a place here?’

He waited for a moment before he let go and McCoy fell heavily to the floor, his legs collapsing beneath him. ‘My god,’ he said shakily, looking at the vampire with new eyes. ‘My – my god.’

Erik’s smile was bitter. ‘I am not sure _He_ has a place here either,’ he said, his lips twisting wryly.

‘How?’ McCoy said breathlessly and Erik could almost taste the yearning and desperation pouring out of him. ‘How is this possible?’

The vampire did not respond. He instead walked back to the window – his gait normal, _human_ – and watched the traffic flow across the streets beneath. 

‘Please.’ McCoy’s desire for knowledge clearly outweighed any fear he had for he bravely stepped closer to make his plea. ‘Please – I want – I _need_ to know.’

Erik did not speak for the longest time. Then he at last turned from the widow with a sigh. ‘What do you wish to know?’ he asked quietly.

McCoy swallowed, almost wrong-footed by the easy compliance. Then, summoning his courage, he took a deep breath. ‘ _Everything_ ,’ he whispered.

Erik smiled. The curve of his blood-red lips was slow but sharp. ‘Be careful what you wish for, boy,’ he murmured. ‘You may receive more than you anticipated.’ 

‘I am ready,’ McCoy said stoutly, puffing out his chest even as he fiddled with the tape-recorder that he had pulled from his pocket. ‘Please. Tell me.’

Erik leaned his head back and sighed. ‘Then let me tell you how I died,’ he said, and then began his story.

*****

Erik Lehnsherr had been drunk the night that he had met the Vampire.

It was said that it was not an unusual state of affairs for the master of the Eisenhardt estate, not since the passing of his wife and child a mere six months previous. Herr Lehnsherr, who had rarely been home prior to the tragedy, engrossed as he was in ensuring the prosperity of his iron mines, now seemed to spend time nowhere else; the taverns that he brooded in at night were the notable exception, however. Each evening saw him drinking himself into a near stupor, blindly seeking out brawls and insulting men twice his size without care, seemingly desirous of following his wife and child into oblivion.

It was on one such night that Erik found himself being followed as he made his way home from the ale-house. It was not an unusual sensation – indeed, Erik had, even through the haze of cheap, acrid wine, felt eyes upon him almost constantly over the past month, though he had not the sobriety or wit about him to yet identify the one who spied upon him. As it was, he was in no state to care about the fact that he might have been followed from the tavern, and he was just as apathetic when, less than a minute later, he found himself pulled into a dark, shadowed alleyway and pressed up against the cold brick wall, a knife held to his throat.

‘Money,’ a guttural voice growled, body pressing into him.

Erik laughed in the man’s face.

The knife pressed deeper, nicking the skin. ‘Drunken fool,’ his assailant hissed. ‘Give me your money or I hurt you.’

Erik regarded him calmly. ‘Will you?’ he asked, expressionless.

His attacker snarled at him. ‘Drunk bastard,’ he cursed, before knocking Erik’s head back against the hard brick wall and digging the knife in further. ‘Give me your money, you fool. Give it to me or I _will_ kill you.’

‘Good,’ Erik whispered, and it seemed that the blow to his head had freed something in him for the drunken mist surrounding him parted momentarily, allowing clarity to descend upon him for this one harsh instant. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the cold brick wall, accepting his fate. ‘Do it.’

The thief paused. Then he drew back, unsettled. ‘I will _kill_ you,’ he repeated, attempting to sound more threatening.

Erik felt himself overcome with sudden anger. ‘Then _do_ it,’ he growled, opening his eyes and surging forward with a snarl, pressing is neck into the blade. ‘ _Do_ it. Do it _now_.’

Erik could see the moment in the man’s eyes when he came to the decision to kill him. The change from uncertainty to certainty happened in a split second. The man cursed. And then the knife was pressing into his neck and his flesh was being sliced open and blood was flowing freely down his neck and Erik closed his eyes, welcoming the end and—

And suddenly there was a scream and the man was _hurled_ away from Erik, his body hitting the wall with a dull _thud_. A second later there was a light laugh and then a vicious _snap_ that made Erik – even with his eyes closed – instinctively recoil from the sound, knowing somehow that his assailant’s neck had somehow been broken by a person of enormous strength. A further _thud_ sounded as the body hit the floor. 

Then, suddenly, there were hands on his face – cold, slender hands, hands that couldn’t _possibly_ have the required strength to—

‘Such pride,’ a light, impossibly sweet voice whispered into his ear, cool breath caressing Erik’s skin and making his hair stand on end. ‘Such exquisite suffering.’

Erik opened his eyes.

He felt his knees give way – whether from fear or relief or the alcohol, he did not know – but he did not hit the floor, and he then realised that he was being held up solely by the strength of the man in front of him. The man who was – to Erik’s hazy, drunken mind, at least – the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. 

‘Are you – are you a spirit?’ he whispered hoarsely, feeling transfixed by the unearthly blue eyes in front of him.

The angel before him smiled, his expression beatific in its kindness. ‘I am a crossroads,’ he said softly, cradling Erik’s face with all the tenderness of a mother with her newborn babe. He stroked the side of Erik’s face lovingly. ‘And now you must choose the path you walk.’

And before Erik could parse the words, before he could question the apparition before him, his head was savagely yanked aside and there was an abrupt sharp pain in his neck – sharper than the cut of the knife, much sharper – and then he was falling, drowning … not in pain but in ecstasy, in pure undiluted pleasure that ran from his head to his fingertips even as the world darkened further, and further and further …

_No. Stop._

The sensation stopped, the moment paused.

_No?_

The question was gentle, curious.

 _No._ Erik fought to keep himself awake. _No_.

_You do not then wish to die, after all?_

_I …_ Erik wanted to twist, to writhe, to pull aside, but he was helpless. Still, something burned at his core, something that would not allow him to give in, to let go completely … one small part of him that he had somehow not managed to numb into despair. _I – I want to live. Let me live!_

There was the sound of musical laughter in his head. _So be it._

And suddenly Erik was wrenched away, the pleasure-pain snatched away cruelly and he let out a cry at its loss, even as he hit the dirty, stone-paved floor, something warm and wet making its presence known at his neck. 

He felt his consciousness begin to give way to darkness and his eyes fluttered close as he gave way to the inevitable.

And yet, even as he felt the blackness overwhelm him, he thought he heard, at the very edge of his consciousness, a last few words.

_Do not worry, my friend. We will meet again soon._

And then the darkness flooded in and Erik knew no more.

*****

Erik paused there and looked up from across the desk. He met the eyes of Henry McCoy, who was leaning forward with tangible eagerness and consuming his tale with an expression of unabashed hunger.

‘And that, Mr. McCoy,’ he said softly, his eyes sparking (with humour? bitterness? _longing_? It was hard to tell). ‘Is how I first met the Vampire Charles.’


End file.
